Page 2 of Tangled with the Tight End

I glance at the clock above the sink. Shit. I’m late. I should’ve been at the lodge five minutes ago. “We can talk about this later. I need to get to the lodge.” I march over to her, kiss her cheek, and smile. Without my parents, I’d be stuck flipping burgers at a fast-food restaurant. “I love you and Dad. Thank you for always being in my corner.”

Her shoulders relax as she wipes her hands on the front of her jeans. “We’re the lucky ones.”

I scurry around, collecting the last of the merchandise that needs to go to the shop, and toss on my plum-colored coat. The one that makes my mom’s jacket look in style as she shrugs on a spare apron.

“I’ll help Maddie out front.”

“Mom, you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “I might as well work since I’m never having grandchildren.”

Ugh. “Fine. Have fun.” I wave, wheel the cart down the ramp, and load it into the van. The outside of the van boasts a huge replica of my logo which glows with frost under the crisp morning sun that’s breaking over the horizon.

Ten minutes later, I’m climbing the swerving road that leads to the lodge. It’s beautiful. And cold.

I twist the knob for the heater and shiver. It’s always 10 degrees colder up here than it is in town. The lodge is over 150 years old but new owners came along and completely rehabbed it from new electrical wiring to updated windows and refaced logs.

It probably would’ve been easier to tear it down and rebuild from the ground up, but they wanted to stay true to the past.

I ease through the parking lot, which is already filling up for the upcoming holiday, and stop in the unloading zone in front of the lodge. Most of their supplies come in through the back, but my shop is off to the side of the main lobby.

After shutting off the engine, I pocket the keys and open the side door. A blast of cold air whips my ponytail, causing it to smack my cheek.A hat and snow pants would’ve been a good idea.I wheel the first cart to the sidewalk with my mom’s voice still rattling in my ear.

As I travel through the lobby, I wave at Tucker, who’s manning the front desk, and smile at Clarissa, one of the women who runs my shop.

“Hey, Norah.” She grins and moves around the front counter, taking the cart off my hands. “I was about to give up on you.”

“Mom stopped by.”

“Oh….” Her brows arch upward as she chuckles. “That explains it. Did she want to tell you about a new recipe she found for you, or was it the husband thing again?”

I brace my hands on my hips. “Which do you think?”

“Husband.” Her eyes danced as she grasps the cart handle. “Doesn’t she know finding a guy in Evergreen Lake is impossible?” She smirks and waggles her eyebrows. “That’s why I’m up here at the lodge where I can hook a big spender, or just a guy I don’t already know.” She raises one shoulder. “I’m not picky.”

“Right.” I shake my head and turn on my heel. “I’ll be right back.” Clarissa isn’t a gold digger. She’s a sweet, practical girl two years younger than me and knows that the prospects in this town are as rare as finding a specific grain of sand in the desert.

“Ugh!” I smack into something that’s solid and at least eight inches taller than me. The collision knocks the air out of me and is followed by the clatter of something heavy and a litany of muttered curse words.

What in the fuck? I step back as my eyes travel up a man with coal-black hair and piercing blue eyes. Piercing blue eyes that are staring death daggers.

“Watch where you’re going.” The hard angles of his cheeks flex as he barks at me. “Irresponsible, incompetent staff.” The muttering starts again as he rights the piece of luggage that fell off the portable silver rack. The onyx leather luggage has a gold-plated insignia with cursive initials that are indistinguishable from where I’m standing.

“Excuse me.” I straighten my back and tip my chin upward. Here’s Clarissa’s rich fish. He straightens another bag. The man’s hands are freaking huge. Holy cow. I thought Marco’s hands were big. “You came out of nowhere.”

“No.” His eyes snap in clear irritation. “You came out of nowhere. I was on my way to the elevator, and you plowed into me.”

“I’m sorry. I must’ve been thinking about something.”

The man’s chest fills the black ski jacket until it almost bursts at the seams. And those thighs. Holy hell. Don’t look.

“Well, don’t because you obviously can’t think and walk at the same time.”

Asshole. His thighs aren’t worth the attitude coming out of his mouth. I cross my arms over my chest. “Seriously? Are you going to use that line? You probably use ‘Are you a campfire? Because you’re hot, and I’d like s’more’ to pick up women.”

“What?” The muscle in his jaw ticks as the lines above his eyebrows deepen. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you’re old and predictable.” What’s wrong with me? The man is probably only in his early 30’s, but it was all I could think of to insult him. It’s not like I have experience being catty. I typically get along with everyone.

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